Dying Embers
by The Lurking Writer
Summary: Firstperson account by Dumbledore of the most important event in his life – he witnesses a Prophecy fulfilled. Please rate & review...


**Title:** Dying Embers 

**Author:** The Lurking Writer

**Rating:** PG-13 – A little something involving a sword.

**Summary:** First-person account by Dumbledore of the most important event in his life – he witnesses a Prophecy fulfilled.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all related characters, names, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling, all publishers concerned and Warner Brothers. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any names not featured in the official Harry Potter books or movies. No money is being made from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Word Count:** 2215****

**Author's Note:** The four lines at the beginning are property of the author and no copying without express and prior permission from the author will be tolerated.   
  


* * *

_Into this dark embrace, we meet the light we've sought,_

_And from beyond the veil the world is clear._

_To all we've held and loved, our blood has bought,_

_Eternity for us, within their hearts, they hold most dear._ – – The Lurking Writer

~*~

The greatest experience – the most important event – of my life also happened to be the worst. You may ask how this is possible, yet, if you had experienced such a similar situation as I, you would never ask it again. The day Harry Potter faced Tom Marvolo Riddle for the eighth time, I knew, was to be the last – the final moment when those emeralds shone with the brilliance of blazing suns and then with dying embers.

We are but fireflies against the crimson backdrop of this circle of firelight we call the world. Most cast pitiful shadows in the dust yet, but a few shine forth their own, inner light, which beats back that of the flames, giving birth to inky shadows that swallow others in their wake. I do not presume to know whether I cast a shadow, or am swallowed by the darkness – all I hope for, is that my candle lasts me the journey from my beginning to the end.

I have been witness in my many years under the burning glow – that hangs in the sky like a ball of flame behind a plate of silver glass – of three such shadow-casters. One has long since passed beyond the grey veil, with due credit going to myself for assisting him towards the final destination. The remaining two have been the focal point of my life for many years now, and upon one summer's eve oh how I did see things with crystal clarity.

One had simply been the shadow caused by the brilliance of the other's light.

Whenever the light diminished, the darkness crept in like the tide, swelling in pools before spewing forth in torrid floods. But, the light always grew strong – stronger even than I had foreseen it could. I knew that the brighter they burned, the sooner they'd flicker and vanish, but this did not stop my increasing pride and love of the radiance, of the life this boy had come to live.

One day – one sweltering evening in late July – had come when the final battle between the shadow-casters had at last begun. And I had arrived just in time, though some may say I could never be anything but too late.

The glare from their spells threatened to outshine all, and the taunts flew between them faster than peregrine falcons on the hunt for their sustenance. Harry had learnt much in his years at Hogwarts, under the tutelage of some of the greatest wizards and witches to ever grace Britain with their presence. This past year, Harry tested my own knowledge to the limits – he'd grown not only as a wizard, as a young man, but also in maturity and in his drive to _learn_. I would not say I'd taught him all I knew, for even I do not know everything I know at all times (the mind is a beautiful but oftentimes strange creation, and I never hope to understand it, only wish to use it wisely).

Curses that would have scared lesser men and mortally wounded anything smaller than a troll, simply, and oh-so-suddenly, ceased to exist within feet of Harry. No trace of a shield spell, or even a barrier, protected Harry from the deadly viridian that vowed to take his soul to meet with his parent's and godfather. Yet, the venomous green could not reach its quarry.

I must say that I was wholly impressed with Harry's technique, and delighted that Tom had not seen through this ruse as easily as Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin and I had done. With their help, I had taught Harry this exact method of distraction – but it was soon to be inadequate, for Tom, quite clearly, and as he had demonstrated so often, had a modicum of intellect and Legilimancy skills.

The battle waged on, and I merely stood by in quiet reverence for the magicks and Power these two were drawing upon. Then came the moment – that instant when all hope failed – all faded to a shade of black so murky it mocked my bespectacled gaze. My life flashed before my eyes like a broken zoetrope – by the time I'd reached the end of my time at Hogwarts (as a student), I could feel the cool, reptilian grasp of an unnatural hand. I could not understand why I had not sensed them before, but, then, I realised I had been once again focusing on Harry.

If there is one thing in this world, or any other, that I cannot abide, it is a Dementor. If there is anything in this world or any other that Dementor's cannot stand, it is someone who holds no fear of them. The hand withdrew with appropriate haste, and so too did the darkness that had crept across my vision. With barely more than a passing thought, my Patronus – a dazzling silver image of Fawkes, if I may say so – chased the creature down. I spared no more of my attention on that which was no longer a threat.

Now was possibly the most important event my life would ever mark.

The moments that had been lost to the hourglass could be described as specks of sand lost in an ocean of like-minded grains, or as the time needed for Tom to launch his most devastating attack on Harry. Either way, both describe an inevitable loss of some kind. I watched as he fell. I saw his body hit the ground like a dead weight, scattering the soil and sending clouds of baked dust into the air around him, like a shroud. My eyes were disbelieving, my heart shrieking with pain and grief. A cloud covered the sight from me – a murky, watery cloud that stayed with me, no matter where I glanced.

The pitiless, high-pitched laughter that belied the strength and mind that gave rise to it rang out in apparent glee. I could not bear to open my eyes for, no matter whether light poured in through my eyelids or not, etched in my mind like a vivid mural, was the deathly-still body of Harry Potter. How could I have let this happen? How could he with Power the Dark Lord knew not be gone? It simply wasn't possible, unless Sybill Trelawney had only ever made one real Prophecy.

Grief had taken hold of me and it gripped my heart like the icy touch of Death himself. Memories of many conversations – and games of Bridge – with the figure Tom Riddle feared more than myself melted the touch on my heart… it resided within me, still, though merely a puddle. I took but a moment to calm my fluttering nerves, tuck my errant beard into its accustomed space – my belt – tighten the buckle on my left boot, and wipe a speck of mud from the toe. Finally ready to face the steady crawl of destiny and fate, my wand found its way into my hand, and so too did my precious watch. Ah, how this watch had saved me time and time again. The little image of Mars spun happily about near Mercury, and Jupiter was on the rise.

I spared a flicker of a glimpse towards Tom and smiled briefly as his face remained as statue-like as… well, a statue of himself – there is really nothing to describe the sight of a bald man with red, slit-like eyes and snake-like nostrils frozen in mid laugh. I allowed myself a brief sigh of relief; my pace towards Harry's unmoving body quickened. I reached him in time to see his eyes, the emeralds blazing defiantly in the gradually greying light that came between sunset and actual night, blink perhaps half a dozen times. A broad smile lit my features – or so Madame Pomfrey tells me it does – as it dawned upon me, suddenly it seemed, that Sybill had indeed made a truthful Prophecy.

"Harry, focus on the sound of my voice. Wake up now, it is almost time for evening snacks, and we don't wish to miss them, now do we, hmm?" Indeed I truly did not wish to miss my evening snacks. I have always been particularly fond of Chocolate Frogs, not least because of my card collection. I have at least a dozen of "me."

I looked upon my watch again, and saw, with slight horror, that the hands were against us – Harry needed to be up on his feet within a minute, or else something rather tragic, to say the least, might happen. 

"Come, Harry. You need to have your wand at the ready. I know not the Power you have, but we must all trust in our instincts, and mine are informing me of your need to be armed soon."

A cough here, and a splutter there – slowly, but surely, the boy was coming back from the brink and it was my intention to make sure that he never gazed into that abyss again. As I stood, I pulled him gently to his feet with me. I had almost released my hold on his arms when he collapsed into my own. A little shakily, he raised his eyes until they were level with my own. The fire behind those stained glass emeralds – the light from within that showed the true glory of his soul – had returned once more. No longer cooling ash in the aftermath of his short life as a flame, he had returned, renewed like the muggle candles that would never quite allow themselves to be extinguished. In his silent gaze a thousand words were spoken, a thousand feelings exchanged, one thought shared by us both.

The time had finally come.

I stepped back and allowed Harry to fulfil the destiny that had been lain out for him since before his birth. It was all any respectable headmaster could do.

The laugh had not quite died on Tom's face when the shock of Harry standing before him caught his attention.

"_What_?! What is this foul treachery? You shall pay for this with your blood, my dear Harry. Any last words before your beloved parents and godfather welcome you to Hell?"

"Just two, if you please, Voldemort: You. Lose."

Gryffindor, the sword of Godric himself – one Founder of Hogwarts – raised upwards in Harry's hands – he gripped the hilt with both – his fingers wrapping around it until the whites of his knuckles could be seen. Dropping his wand in the process, Harry drove the tip of the blade deep, until the blood had smothered all, coating his palms and the cuffs of his robes in hot crimson. Tom looked down at the blade that was now firmly a part of his shoulder, preventing any movement of his wand arm.

"Damn… you… Potter!"

Harry dropped his hold of Gryffindor, rolled backward and held the wand that had served him for seven years in his outstretched right hand. The tip he aimed directly at Tom's chest. Tom appeared to be held in a rictus of immense pain and searing anger. A small chuckle escaped Harry's lips, reaching my ears before continuing out beyond the reach of my mere mortal hearing.

"I've already been damned, Tom, and d'you know what? I don't care."

I turned away, not needing or wishing to see these final few moments. The flash of vicious green gnawed at the corner of my eyes for but a second or two, and I knew he had done it – the Prophecy had been fulfilled.

To bring this tale back to its original modus operandi, I must remind you that this was both the greatest and worst experience of my life. The worst had come, I'd once thought, but as I turned I had quickly realised that no matter how serious, or bad a situation may at first appear, there is always a more dire one just around the corner.

Where Tom had stood, only air remained, for his prone body was at an awkward angle. Gryffindor, still hilt first through his shoulder, had been driven into the hard ground, and Tom was most firmly attached to the sword. It would take Severus months of distilling to remove the bloodstains from that sword, and I was sure I would not hear the end of it for as long as my hearing stayed with me.

"Harry, it is time to leave this battlefield."

The young man turned to me and I could see the dying embers of the Power in his eyes. It had stayed with him, all this time, through death and grief, but now that its purpose was served, it vanished as simply and as quickly as the moon could do behind a cloud.

"I think you're right, Professor," he had said, wearily.

With a flick of my wand we were safely back at Grimmauld Place, just in time for Remus to appear in the doorway with some Eccles cakes.

Life would soon return to its usual business of terrifying ordeals and other matters of school life, but for tonight, time stood back and allowed us a little moment of peace.

~*~ Finis ~*~


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